THE CANAL STREET SHIRT STORE.
"Do you call them stitches? S-a-y? How d'ye expect a man to git a livin' if he's robbed in that way? Do you call that a shirt—s-a-y?"
"Indeed I did my best—"
"Did your best? I should like to know what you take me for? D'ye think I'm a fool? Did not I give you the stuff for five shirts, and fust of all, I exacted a pledge of five dollars from you, to be forfeited if you spoilt the stuff—"
"And you know I was to receive two shillings for each shirt. I'll thank you to pay me my money, and restore my five dollars and let me go—"
"Not a copper. This shirt is spoilt. And if those you have in your arms are no better, why they are spoilt too—"
"They're made as well as the one you hold—no better."
"Then I can't sell 'em for old rags. Just give 'em to me, and clear out—"
"At least give me back my five dollars—"
"Not a copper. Had you finished these shirts in the right style, they'd a-sold for fifteen dollars. As it is, the money is forfeited,—I mean the five dollars which you left with me as a pledge. I can't employ you any more. Just give me the other four shirts, and clear out."